


You gave me warmth

by bisteve



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Homeless theon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, ramsey tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisteve/pseuds/bisteve
Summary: Theon is cold and alone, hidding in central park. And Greyjhoys don't take handouts.





	You gave me warmth

Theon was cold. His threadbare blankets barely provided enough cover from the winter snows. He huddled deeper against his rock trying to conserve his warmth. He wished he had a fire. Or food. It had been almost three days since Theon had had anything decent to eat, and a whole week since a real meal. 

But all of that was better than Ramsay. Better dead than Ramsay. Better slowly starving to death in Central park than to be back in Ramsay’s apartment waiting for his next meal as much as his next beating. 

Theon had run away three weeks ago. It wasn’t the first time he had run from Ramsay.  But he’d never meant it as much as he did now . The other times had been after beatings, or fights. When he had been too scared to think straight. He would just bolt out the door without thinking, or thrown some shit into a knapsack and gone to hide somewhere. But Ramsay had always found him. And afterwards there was always hell to pay.

Theon curled up tighter underneath his little shelter, attempting to sleep. Inevitably his thoughts began to drift to the night he ran away. It hadn’t been a special night. Not to Ramsay anyway. 

\----

Theon feverishly pulled the soup cans off the shelf. He almost dropped them in his haste, but he managed to catch himself. Shaking with fear, Theon dumped all the food onto the bed next to his bag. His heart pounding in his chest, he turned to the closet and started yanking out sweaters and jackets. 

He had to get out before Ramsay came home. In his panicked hurry, he ripped one of the sweaters as he pulled it off the hanger. He stared at the ruined fabric for a few moments, the panic catching up to him. The feeling caught in his throat, and he felt the tears welling up into his eyes. What was he  _ doing _ ? He would never get away, he would never survive. He needed Ramsay to protect him. His knees weakening, Theon collapsed onto the bed and curled up onto his side. He let the tears and panic overwhelmed him, and he started to cry. 

As Theon lay there, the tears winding their way down his face, he thought about what would happen to him when Ramsay came home. Either he would be  in a bad mood and he would beat him, or he would be in a good mood and fuck Theon bloody. Both prospects were painful and terrifying. 

Theon rolled over and looked at the ceiling. He didn’t want this. He didn't want  _ Ramsay _ anymore. Even if it's what he deserved, Theon would rather be alone on the streets that have to wait for him to come back. 

He picked himself up of the bed and looked around the room with new resolve. He gathered up the food, put on as many layers as he could and put on his back pack. He looked around the apartment one more time, picturing what would happen when Ramsay came home. 

He would barge through the door and demand some sort of meal. He would expect Theon to have it ready, and to come hurrying out of the kitchen to wait on him. It might take him a few moments  to realize Theon wasn't coming. He would storm through the apartment shouting threats, but Theon would be long gone.

Theon turned to the bedroom window and heaved it open. The chilly air flooded into the warm room, making Theon glad of his layers. He took a deep breath, and climbed through the the window into the cold night. 

\----

"Um, excuse me? Sir?"

The voice jerked Theon out of his memories, and he bolted upright, almost slamming his head against a rock. His first thought was that Ramsay had found him, but then he realized that if that were true, then he never would have been so polite. 

He looked up and saw a young man standing in front of him. He had red hair and freckles with attractive blue eyes. He was wearing a coat over an orange crew neck that said “Winterfell Kitchens.” Great. A do-gooder.

“Sorry to bother you,” the man smiled sheepishly. “But we’re handing out food and blankets, if you want any.” 

Theon rolled out of his paltry rock shelter and stood. He was about an inch taller than the man, but he didn't feel like it. Theon hunched inward, a byproduct of Ramsey’s treatment. His hair was salted with white, and he probably looked like a dirty old man. He felt like one. But he was still a Greyjoy, and Greyjoys don't take handouts.

“I don’t need your charity,” Theon said, hoping the guy would just leave. He tried to muster as much pride as he could. He could find a dinner in the trash like usual, he didn't need some shitty sandwich from some self serving organization. 

The guy looked nonplussed. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m not saying you need it, but it wouldn’t hurt to take it.” He tried a half smile like he was hoping to convince Theon. He could feel himself giving way, thinking about a whole sandwich. But taking things from people was more shame than he needed. 

“No, I told you, I don't need help ok, I can handle myself.” Theon turned to squeeze himself back into his makeshift shelter.

“Wait!” Theon stopped moving, with his back still turned. “I just have a quota to fill and if we don’t give out enough food we could lose funding, and then all the people who go to the shelter would get screwed, so please just take the sandwich? It would be a huge favor for me ok?” He hesitated, and when he didn’t get a reply Theon heard him turn to leave. 

“Well we’re handing out stuff on from the cart on the path over there, so if you change your mind… Thanks anyway though.” The footsteps receded and when he turned around to look the guy was gone.

Theon sighed. He couldn’t just say no to a plea like that. Something about the guy reminded Theon about the person Ramsay pretended to be. That was the person Theon had kept coming back to. His pride faltered. He would be doing the kid a favor, and the other people in the park probably appreciated the food. Theon’s resolve weakened at the thought of food that wasn't cold and slightly slimy.

He sighed again and mumbled to himself, “Ok fine, but it’s a favor, not charity.” No one heard him though. 

Theon made his way over the pile of rocks, down the little hill dotted with trees, and out onto the paved path. A little ways down there was a little hot dog cat with an orange umbrella. The guy was standing there handing some bag lady a sandwich with a smile. 

The smile comforted Theon. It was a genuinely happy smile, unlike the ones Ramsay used to give him, the ones that promised pain. Theon stuffed his hand into the pockets of his coat and approached the cart. 

The boy looked up, shaking his curly red hair out of his eyes, his smile widening when he saw Theon. 

“You came! I was starting to worry we wouldn’t give out enough stuff, my little sister would be so disappointed.” 

_ Of course he has a family _ , Theon thought, _ he's one of those perfect kids with a nice house and christmas presents every year.  _ He almost turned around at that, but his stomach rumbled, and the smell of food overpowered him.

“Well I can’t let your little sister be sad, can I?” Theon muttered, witch it got him a smile, making it feel a little more worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to expand on this at a later date, but this has been sitting around for a bit so here you go.


End file.
